


Wish You Were Here

by Arati_Mhevet



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arati_Mhevet/pseuds/Arati_Mhevet
Summary: After 'The Wire', Garak and Bashir meet for lunch, and the doctor passes on a message.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	Wish You Were Here

**Wish You Were Here**

The whole point of dropping Tain’s name had been to get the doctor to contact him, but Garak hadn’t imagined that Bashir would rush off and see him. Full of surprises, this young man. He would have to keep an eye on that.

“Beautiful house,” his doctor said, through a mouthful of _hasperat_. “Slightly sombre for my taste. A touch of the gothic.” He reached for his glass of _moba_ juice and drank thirstily. “They’ve made the _hasperat_ very hot today.”

And it smelled revolting. Bajoran food carried many unpleasant associations. Garak looked down at his own, as yet untouched, lunch. He knew the house well, of course; had been a guest there many times. Hunting parties, formal dinners, clever people making clever conversation and clever plans. The place was about as perfect an example of a colonial country home that could be found within the Union and had been in the family – Tain’s family, he meant – for generations. Bashir didn’t have a clue.

“Your steak any better?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

“The _hasperat_ ’s always too spicy when Palara’s on.”

Slowly, methodically, Garak cut up pieces of replicated _gettle_ and moved them around his plate. Perhaps if he did this assiduously enough, he would persuade the doctor he was eating normally.

 _No, really, Doctor, positively thriving, but thank you for your attention, most kind_ …

“Still, I was surprised I was allowed access so quickly.”

Risky, giving Bashir the name (Odo was sniffing around, and Garak couldn’t play the convalescent forever), but by that point Garak had been running out of options. The only person left to ask for help was the one who’d stuck him here in the first place. Not that Tain would have been unaware of what was going on. He had, presumably, been monitoring the whole humiliating affair from the beginning, watching with a smile, waiting to see how long Garak would last before admitting defeat.

_I knew you’d come begging eventually. Remember, Elim, you’re nothing without me._

“I just sailed across the border. Almost like they were expecting me.”

The choice had been to beg or die, and Garak didn’t want to die. He wasn’t sure he wanted to grow old either – not here – but he certainly didn’t want to die. Not without seeing home. And since aging could not halted, and death had been delayed, and time could not be stopped, he supposed in the meantime he ought to eat something. He lifted his fork to his mouth, but the smell of the meat sent a fresh wave of nausea over him. Why had he ordered this? Far too ambitious. 

_Always over-reaching, Elim._

What he wanted was a bowl of _aytlik_ broth – warm, thick, comforting – and some fresh _matha_ bread. No chance of that. He could replicate some later, he supposed, but why bother? It wasn’t the same and that only made things worse. Like this steak. Palara might miss the mark with _hasperat_ but he did know how to cook a steak. The problem was it wasn’t real.

_No place like home, is there, Elim?_

“He knew my name, of course.”

Risky for Bashir too, coming to Tain’s attention. Ever so slightly, invisibly to most eyes, Garak’s grip tightened around the handle of his knife. He knew, better than most, what pains the Order might go to, if they chose, and the thought of Bashir in the Order’s embrace… 

“And he knew exactly how I took my tea.”

Garak, very carefully, put down the knife. Tain watched him, of course – always had done, always waiting for this unique but imperfect tool to slip so that correction could be made – but this closely? This assiduously?

_Really, Enabran? Even now? Even after everything?_

How gratifying to discover one was still considered worthy of such attention. One might almost mistake it for love. But no, this was merely one of the earliest lessons.

 _Always behave as if someone is watching_.

“You know, Garak,” said Bashir, “and I speak here both as your physician and your friend – you should stop pushing that steak around the plate, put some in your mouth, chew, and swallow. You won’t get better if you don’t eat.”

For a brief, excruciating moment, Garak saw these lunches through Tain’s eyes – the forced levity, Bashir’s youth and beauty, his own palpable yearning. What a sight. Tain must be revolted. Bashir sighed and Garak’s attention jerked back to his companion. There were worry lines on his brow. Garak’s fingers twitched. _Dear boy_ , _whatever is the matter?_

“Doctor? Something else wrong with your lunch?”

“No, not that. It’s just… he asked me to pass on a message to you.”

“Oh yes?”

 _Come home, all is forgiven_. Or was it: _I hope you suffer there for years then die._

“He said… he said that he missed you.”

Bashir was watching him closely now; anxious, concerned. What was he expecting? That Garak would break down? Throw a fit? Collapse into tears?

 _Last week’s style, dear doctor._

Garak, delicately, wiped the corners of his mouth. He put down the napkin and reached for some bread. He tore the roll in half, put a piece in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. All of this while staring Bashir directly in the eye. Bashir grinned and Garak felt a prickle of delight. This ravishing young man, storming the enemy stronghold on his behalf… Whatever must Tain have thought?

The bread tasted good. Garak ate another piece as Bashir nodded encouragement. Over time, with the implant, sensation had become muffled except, in the distance, a vague throb of pain that was easily ignored – until it wasn’t. What else might come back, Garak wondered – and then, suddenly, he was filled again with that desire to make mischief that had caused him so much grief as a boy, that Tain had gone to such pains to correct, and that had never been entirely repressed.

_Well, since you’re watching…_

Garak picked up his fork and skewered a piece of _gettle_. “Here,” he said, leaning forwards to offer the gift, “try some. It’s very good.”

Bashir accepted. Chewed and swallowed. His face lit up. “Actually, that is good.” Garak smiled. Bashir smiled back, and said, “So how about pudding?”

“D’you know, doctor – I think I can be tempted.”

_I miss you too, Enabran. But I haven’t changed. I don't think I can._


End file.
